


Apology

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures, The Midnight Crew - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cute?, Fluff, Humanstuck, Kidnight Crew, M/M, loud shrugs, probably cute, underage stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:37:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8538613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Spades hasn't been talking to anyone. Then, he arrives at Diamond's house in the middle of the night.
 
(Humanstuck Kidnight Crew shenanigans wherein Slick and Droog are probably like 13)





	

“Fuck off, Draco. You don’t know shit.”

You recoil from the snarled words, withdrawing deep into yourself to meet the venom in his gaze with hardened apathy. _Fine, that’s fine,_ you think, and you express that in a concise and clipped tone. The hand you had placed on his shoulder is now hanging at your side, and as you walk away it feels as if it’s burning with the anger welling inside you. You kick an abandoned can down the sidewalk, shoving that hand firmly in your pocket. _Fine. As if it matters to me._ Quickly you layer the resentment over with cold indifference, hiding the deep hurt that his biting use of your actual name inflicted. That all he’s done has inflicted. _Screw off. I didn’t really like being your friend anyway._

The suppression of the hot tears stinging in your eyes serves as a catalyst to your complete dismissal of the event. Your face is stone. It never pained you, and never will.

  
♠♡♢♣

  
Spades, for the last week and counting, has spoken to no one.

You know him as Spades Slick, the unequivocal alpha of your group, daring and loud-mouthed, quick-witted and quick-tempered. The teachers and administration of this school know him as Jack Vantas, the unavoidable rule-breaker who always has to have the last word. In either case, no one would think of him as _silent_. Quiet, sometimes, brooding over some injustice or mulling over some plan or another, but never silent. Not the way he has been, withdrawn from his friends, skipping lunch, strangely devoid of little quips to add into the lessons in class. Never speaking in more than a grunt, unless harassed, in which a terse monosyllable might be provided. It doesn't take any lengths of intuition to see that something’s wrong, though you suspect that it’s more than the bad mood or phase that Hearts has been trying to pass it off as.

Which is the reason why you’d confronted your leader in the first place, after school let out, asked him if he needed anything from you. At that moment, you would do most anything for him, even if you disapproved of whatever it was. But now, lying in bed sleepless, you don’t think you would. It’s quite obvious that he wants nothing to do with you, so why should you give him anything? You roll on your side to watch your clock ticking away, counting the endless seconds as they edge towards midnight. You’re never up this late. Oh, how your academics will undoubtedly suffer for it. You tap your fingers in an impatient rhythm on your pillow. _'Fuck off, Draco.' Of course. Of course I don’t care._

You know what the tapping is from the moment you first hear it. It’s because you know that you pretend it’s some hallucination, or some animal, or a tree branch, or anything but what it is. You feign sleep as if it’ll drive it away. It persists for several minutes, the repetitive noise scratching at your ears as if to drive you mad, and then ceases. Relief fills you, until it returns with a rapid fire of taps against the glass of your window. _That’s it,_ you think, ripping the sheets off your body and storming as gently as possible over to the sill, shoving the window open. “Hey,” you whisper-yell into the darkness below. You can’t see him, but he’s there. Guaranteed. “Quit it with the rocks. You’re going to scratch the glass.”

There’s a pause. “What, worried your _mommy’s_ gonna notice?”

“ _Yes,_ actually,” you snap. “You could get in really big trouble for that.” She’d tell his father, and lord only knows how _he’d_ react. You sigh. “Look, just tell me what is that you want.”

“Look, I…” Suddenly tense, you wait with bated breath. An apology? From him? One of those rare gems that sparkles, almost mystical after having fallen from his lips? But all he says is, “Come down,” and you realize you should’ve been prepared for disappointment.

“Why should I?”

Your acerbity sends him into silence. It’s quiet for a long time, the wind gently breathing on your face, lukewarm, still carrying some leftover humidity from the summer. You’re on the verge of closing the window when he speaks again. “Diamonds.”

“Yes?” The intonation of the word drips with bitter derision upon hearing the return to your nickname.

“Come down. Please.”

You grit your teeth. “We have school in the morning.”

“Who gives a fuck?”

“ _I_ do. Goodnight, Jack.”

“I’ll wait out here all night. It don’t matter to me.”

You make to slam your window shut, but stop, remembering the hour, and slide it gently closed instead. The blankets puff up around you as you toss yourself back onto your bed. The dim aura of comfort settles back around, and you relax, but it is quickly followed by the troubled feeling that had been keeping you awake. You shift, once, and now on your back you can see the blank white of your ceiling staring back at you as you gaze up. It’s one of those things that you’ve examined countless times before, but the exceeding plainness of it startles you now. It’s almost too white, and it seems to loom over you, an austere presence watching you from above with disapproval. _Tick, tick, tick,_ goes your clock, the sharpness of its sound adding to the vague state of distress you’re in. You find yourself extraordinarily uncomfortable, for a reason that you don’t want to face, but you think you’ll have to. It only takes you a couple minutes to rapidly weigh the pros and cons before making a decision and, begrudgingly, make your way back to the window. “You still there?” you ask upon raising it once more.

“Di’n’t I say I’d be out here?”

You sigh, hesitating. “I’ll be right down.”

Climbing down the tree outside your room is likely the worst decisions of your life so far, but you make it, your detailed knowledge of the various knots and branches your only savior. Upon reaching the bottom you’re shaking slightly, and you try and disguise it from the other boy, who, half-shrouded in shadows, allows his fistful of pebbles to go trickling through his fingers. “Great,” he says, but he says it flatly, almost as if he doesn’t mean it. “Let’s go to the quarry.”

Standing there in your pyjamas, you must look like a fool, certain of the shocked and unbelieving look on your face. “ _What?_ Do you _want_ to die? What the _hell is the matter with you?_ ”

“Calm th’ fuck down, Jesus. I ain’t gonna be jumpin’ or anythin’. If ya don’t wanna come, you can climb back up that damned tree.”

You can feel his fiery, insolent scowl, even if you can’t see it that well. It’s a look so characteristic of the other boy, his signature in a way. “So? What’ll it be?”

He’s lucky that he so easily sways you.

The two of you cut through the band of woods edging the line of suburban homes. Your walk is silent, almost foreboding in nature; while the you both know the route like the back of your hand, it seems foreign and frightening in the middle of the night. You look back once, looking regretfully at the familiarity of the streetlights you have abandoned, and then push forward into the underbrush. You’re not going to bow out. Even if this is an extremely dangerous and unwise activity, at least he’s actually talking to you.

You emerge from the trees. The moon shines, nearly full, over the jagged cliffs and sharp edges defining the quarry. The small pond at the bottom reflects that white circle’s face back to it, a kind of stoic rebellion carried with it, as if to say _See? I can do that too._ Without another word, Spades begins carefully down the perilously thin path leading to the bottom, sitting on the ground and sliding rather than walking. You follow suit, and it reminds you grimly of sliding down the stairs when you were younger, laughing and carefree. Something tells you that, with the ease with which Slick is moving, he’s been here at night alone many times. _Reckless bastard._ The thought is punctuated by an owl calling somewhere, sending a chill up your spine. _Predictable, really._ Your terror is barely fended off, and you’re glad that he’s ahead, because he can’t see your face.

It’s a long process to get down, and the entire time you feel as though you could tumble down the side of the quarry at any moment, breaking your head open on the rocks. You don’t. You and Spades make it, and you only have a couple scratches to your name. The pond is still, smelling vaguely stale, of minerals and rain. Your heart drums in your chest, filled with the anxious tension of the rule-breaker. As you check your cuts, making sure they’re as minor as you think they are, you hear shuffling; upon looking back you see that Spades has shed most of his clothing. In only boxers, the moonlight saturates the rough tan complexion of his skin, reducing it to a spectral grey. Ethereal. You tear your gaze away, and you hear the splash as he pushes off into the water. “God! It’s fuckin’ freezin’ in here! Jesus, you aren’t gonna make me suffer this alone, are ya?” A long breath escapes you. You strip, ditch your pyjamas on the gravelly beach, heading in after him.

Between the two of you, you’re the most technical when it comes to swimming. Lessons that you both attended are all but forgotten by Spades, but relied on heavily by you. Backstroke, sidestroke, treading. Yet, somehow, when he’s not acting like a complete idiot, he holds a certain grace. As you both, suddenly in camaraderie, bluster about the almost incapacitating temperature, you watch him power through the water, shoulderblades moving entrancingly under taut muscle. Who knew? Well, of course you knew, because you know him like the back of your hand, but it does seem improbable that such a tornado of a human being could look so elegant of a creature in the water.

You only swim for a couple of minutes, following Spades out when he declares “Fuck it” through a spluttered mouthful of chilly water. Stumbling back onto the shore, you’re both shivering wildly, and he makes an offhand remark about hypothermia, cheerfully sarcastic. It’s strange, the return to friendliness; you can still feel the anger from before, but he’s back to the Spades you know, the one that’s as grimly sardonic as you are. It relaxes you in a way that you weren’t aware you had lost before. You both unconsciously avert your eyes so you can take off your soaked undergarments before changing back into your dry clothing. “Shoulda brought a damn towel,” he grumbles. “Wait--here.” There’s a rustle, and suddenly his jacket is being thrust at you. “Use this.” Your pants are on and already sticking to your cold thighs, but you accept it and pat at your torso and hair. It’s slightly damp from Spades obviously having used it first, and it’s not particularly absorbent, but it’s better than nothing. After you’re dressed, Spades goes and sits with his back to the tall rock wall, and you sit beside him, teeth chattering on occasion. Now he’s silent, and a mixed feeling of nervousness and confusion nags at you. Why are you here? Why did you go in with him? There’s absolutely no reason for you to forgive him yet.

Until he speaks again.

“He found out, you know.”

“What?” But strangely, with a sinking feeling in your stomach growing, you think you already know what this is about.

“Pops. He found out. About the booze.”

_Of course._ It’s been months. All summer. Months of bragging, of masculine displays, talking about how his father is just _so stupid_ and _so dumb_ for not realizing that he’s pilfering alcohol from out under his nose. Months of you warning him to not go any farther, and staying your tongue when he inevitably did. “I _told you_ that you’d get caught, Spades.”

“Well, aren’t you just Mr. fuckin’ High and Mighty!” There’s a charged pause, bristling with exhilarated conflict. “I been thinkin’.”

“Oh, really? Have you now?”

“Yeah, I have, smartass.” He glares at you. “I been thinkin’ about runnin’ away from this stupid town.” You don’t know what to say, taken slightly aback, but he rushes forward into the next sentence without a response. “I hate it! I hate all of it, Diamonds! Grades--teachers--my old man-- _especially_ him! That fuckin’ asshole! I _hate_ him!” His chest is heaving with exertion as he takes a breath. “Christ, I’m too young to drive, to drink, to smoke--I’m fuckin’ trapped! I can’t do anythin’ worth my goddamn time, so why stay? Why stay? I ain’t got nothin’ but you guys, but I don’t think Hearts and Clubs would never go through wit’ it--God, it’s all so stupid!” He looks away, huffing, blinking rapidly, before he faces you again. The scowl has become a desperate plea. “You understand, right? Come with me. Let’s go, tonight. I can’t stand it anymore. We gotta.”

Words still elude you, but you meet his eyes, glistening and adamant. The connection is held just a couple of seconds too long for you to be at ease. You glance away, trying to find something else, anything else to focus on, and you can sense the awkwardness rising between you. He clears his throat, shifting back, for he had been leaning towards you. After a second you tentatively look back at him, giving your best shot at producing some sort of advice. “I…” Your hand clenches clammily onto your wrist, but you realize that you’re not shaking as much anymore. “Look...I don’t know…”

Those eyes latch onto yours again, and he’s touching your face. His other hand replaces your clammy one, encircling your forearm tightly. You’re nowhere near cold now. A flush is heating your body, mouth dry, stomach jolting. He’s close, too close, and you don’t have time to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing before he kisses you.

It’s quick, just the slightest of pecks, but it’s enough to send you reeling. “Wh--” You release a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. Gathering the scattered pieces of your brain is difficult with his face still right there, with his fingers still lightly brushing your face. You’re frightened by this, and you’re on unsteady ground, hardly able to stand. You even feel a little sick. “What the _fuck?_ ”

Spades shrugs, a serious and slightly unsure look on his face. “I dunno.”

“...You’re...you’re not going to run away, are you.” It’s a statement, not a question. You know that he wants to stay here, that despite whatever he goes through you and the other two members of the Crew are going to be here for him. You know that this memory is one he’s creating here, in this quarry, in this town, and it’s not one he’ll leave behind so easily.

Thinking about it, you don’t think you will either. Even if you wanted to.

“No,” he murmurs. “Well, I might. I dunno. We’ll see how it plays out.”

Your lips meet again.


End file.
